Just a Test
by sunshineditty
Summary: Trust. Betrayal. Deception. Everything is a test; or so Stiles believes. Is it true or will Stiles lose more than he bargained for?


"It's all a test. Everything is a test! Nothing is what it seems."

The masked men didn't bother responding with words, just action, and kicked Stiles' knees out, forcing him down and bending him forward until his forehead touched the grimy wet floor. The leader, whose boots were the only thing visible from Stiles' particular angle, was only an echoing voice.

"Sorry, kid, this isn't a test. Give us the names we asked for."

Stiles laughed, mockingly, and tried to jerk away. Instead he got a punch to the left kidney. There wasn't a doubt in his mind this was a test. Getting recruited by Deaton and being sent to the Farm had fulfilled a dream of his, ever since he discovered his father had once worked for the CIA. This wasn't real, no matter how much they tried to tell him it was.

It was only a test.

A test.

It was the mantra Stiles kept telling himself, first silently, and then aloud when he realized no one really cared what he said, unless it was an answer to their constant questions about who his instructors were. Stiles held firm against speaking Deaton's name because he knew, he knew, this was only a test.

At least until the day the leader stepped through the door, face unmasked unlike the men who visited him at least twice a day (or so Stiles thought - it was hard to tell time when he wasn't really allowed to sleep or rest since the lights never dimmed).

He was blind. Or so the tapping stick and stereotypical wraparound glasses proclaimed. Stiles still maintained it was a lie, brought on by the test.

"Mr. Stilinski, you're a stubborn one I admit. We didn't expect you to last as long as you have."

Stiles grinned up at him from his crouched position along the wall, teeth bloodied from the last round of questioning.

"So sorry, sir. Shall I tell you what you want to know?"

"Tell me who trained you."

"Promise you won't tell anyone else?"

"Oh, yes, you have my word."

Stiles leaned in closer, as if imparting a secret, and even lowered his voice for the added effect. "Bono. I know, I know, it's a shock since the guy is all about being the male Angelina Jolie, but I swear, he also moonlights as a spymaster."

The slap was shocking for how fast it came. Stiles didn't even have time to duck.

"Its is regrettable how this turned out. I do detest violence, but you are being extraordinarily difficult, so I'm forced to extreme measures. Remember, this is entirely your fault."

A wadded damp cloth was tossed at Stiles' face, and he wrinkled his nose when the acrid scent of urine assaulted his olfactory senses. The slamming of the door brought his attention back up but the leader was already gone.

Stiles stared down at the article of clothing he stretched out on the ground - which turned out to be black slacks - with mounting confusion. These weren't his (thankfully sexual assault wasn't apart of their interrogation so he still wore the clothes he was taken in) so how was it related to him?

A small tear in one pocket caught on his fingertips and Stiles suddenly understood.

He had caused the tear in his haste to undress Derek, shoving the pants halfway down his thighs so Stiles could wrap his mouth around Derek's amazing cock.

Recruits weren't supposed to engage in any relations - sexual or otherwise - in or out of the Farm during training, but Stiles had noticed Derek on the bus there and pursued him relentlessly. His fluid sexuality had ensured Stiles with a plethora of choice, except Derek James Hale was a once in a lifetime sort of occurrence and he knew it.

Derek had ignored him at first, plotted against Stiles during exercises when that didn't work, and finally succumbed in a weak moment. This was the night before the choke point test and Stiles' "kidnapping."

And Stiles was the rabbit with Scott acting as his Eye, so how did Derek fit into this? How did they get a hold of Derek? And these slacks? Sure, he hadn't seen Derek after their alleyway fuck, but he figured it was due to embarrassment. Was he taken as well?

Could this be real? Was this not a test?

"I see you understand the stakes, Mr. Stilinski."

The voice should've startled him since he was alone a moment ago. Stiles didn't care they were watching him, seeing his reaction to their present. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except the truth. Derek was fine. Derek was at the Farm.

"Who are you?"

The question was shakier than Stiles liked, but he couldn't control the visceral reaction to the knowledge Derek could be in danger. Stiles was a loner through circumstance more than nature and was insanely protective of what he considered his. True, Derek hadn't consented to being his - not yet - but Stiles couldn't help his feelings. Even if Derek never reciprocated, if he went onto other relationships, he would still be someone Stiles cared about and would look after.

Isaac, Stiles' childhood best friend, once compared his brand of loyalty to the Mafia: once you're in, you're in and can only leave through death.

"Who we are doesn't concern you, Mr. Stilinski. What should concern you is what we know about you."

Stiles shrugged. HIs life was an open book, especially after he was recruited to the CIA. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility that foreign enemies had collected their own data, though it begged the question of why. Stiles wasn't even a full operative yet as he was still in training and didn't have access to any classified information, except maybe how the CIA taught their techniques.

The shrug went over as well as Stiles' earlier snarky response and his other cheek was slapped

"I see you're still not understanding the severity of your situation." The leader banged on the door to signal someone outside. A hoarse male voice shattered the relative silence and Stiles recognized Derek's scream right away. "He was very stubborn, at least until they cracked his kneecaps."

Stiles broke.

"Make it stop. Make it stop! I'll tell you everything you want to know if you leave him the hell alone."

Stiles knew he was failing the test, if this was a test, and putting people in danger if it wasn't. He didn't know or care why this was happening any more. All he could hear was Derek's pain, the despair in it as if he had given up. Derek wasn't supposed to give up, just give in to Stiles. Not be tortured until his throat gave out, - or even worse in Stiles' estimation - died.

You could come back from anything provided you didn't die.

"Alan Deaton is the recruiter who came for me. I don't know anything else because he's the only point of contact I've had." Stiles wasn't completely foolish and figured Deaton could take care of himself.

"You're a smart man, capable of great things, Mr. Stilinski, otherwise you couldn't have graduated from MIT at the top of your class. I need more."

"Let him go and I'll tell you anything you want. Do anything you want."

"Oh you will, regardless." The silky undertone alerted Stiles to danger just as Derek gurgled and fell silent.

"No, no, no, this is a test. Only a test."

"Life's a test, yes Mr. Stilinski, and one you've failed."

Stiles couldn't hear through the pounding in his ears. He tried to keep still, stay quiet so he could tell if Derek lived, but his interrogator didn't understand what he was trying to do and kept talking. Kept Stiles from listening.

So Stiles shut him up.

His muscles ached, his bones moved like ground glass beneath his skin, but he could still move, still clench his fists around a fragile throat and use the guy's head as a ram against the door.

"- Stilinski! Agent Stilinski! Someone do a goddamn thing!"

Vaguely Stiles heard another familiar voice behind him, but he was too intent on opening the door to get to Derek. He was forced to stop when arms threaded through him and bound him up in a choke hold, turning him away from his interrogator and forcing him to turn.

The back wall of his prison cell was gone like magic and opened to a sea of horrified faces. There were seats, tvs, computers, and a large screen monitor which showed Stiles being held prisoner by a black-suited man with another man gurgling his own blood at Stiles' feet.

"I don't understand."

Deaton stepped forward from the shadows. "It was just a test, Stilinski. Just a test."


End file.
